


children of the universe

by atlasky



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ocean's Eleven, Characters to be added, Gen, Ocean's Eleven AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-29 23:39:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14483748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlasky/pseuds/atlasky
Summary: Tim thinks whatever happened with Jason Todd is the reason why Bruce Wayne stopped stealing.Cass thinks whatever happened with Jason Todd is the reason why Bruce Wayne stopped being happy."I’m saying this for your own good,” Dick says, his voice low. “You’re not invincible, Cass. One of these days Bruce’s past will catch up with him and I don’t want any of you to be in the blast zone.”“All the more reason that I should stay,” she says.





	children of the universe

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my eternal WIPs and I'm anxious about posting it, but I thought, might as well. I hope you like it!
> 
> Age:  
> Bruce: 42  
> Dick: 27  
> Jason: 23  
> Cass: 24  
> Tim: 20  
> Duke: 20  
> Steph: 20  
> Damian: 14

The double oak doors swing open and Cass steps outside, under the bright summer sky. A dark haired woman in shorts drags her crying son away from the ice cream vendor nearby. Cass watches as the woman puts her hands on her hips, and leans down to say something to the boy. The boy rubs his face with his palms and sniffles, but then the woman extends a palm out to the boy and he takes it, clutching the woman’s slender fingers with his smaller ones.

There’s a sleek black BMW parked across the street.

Cass considers her options and how fast she can sprint to the other end of the street. She could blend in with crowds just fine, and if it’s dark she knows she could disappear without a problem. But the street is lacking of crowds, and the day is as bright as it could be. The car window glints because of the sunlight. She looks left and right before she finally makes her way to the car. She taps on the window of the passenger door and the door swings open. She slides into the car and smiles at her father.

Bruce grunts. “That smile won’t work for me, not this time.”

“I always want to smile at you,” Cass says, as the door slams shut and Bruce starts the car. She puts on her seatbelt, which she doesn’t think is necessary unless Damian is practice driving, and the car speeds away from the police precinct as if they can’t get away from it fast enough.

Bruce’s grip is tight on the steering wheel. “I can’t keep bailing you out of jail.”

Cass hums. “Me?”

It’s always funny when Bruce narrows his eyes at her. “Any of you.”

She leans back on her seat and watches the passing stores. “I have a clean record.”

“And I’d like you to keep it that way.” Bruce loosens his tie with his right hand, tugging at the stubborn knot with quick fingers. “Just because Dick gets you off the hook each time doesn’t mean you can keep putting his job at the GCPD on the line.”

“No,” she says. “What’s getting me off the hook is… the amount of donation you’re putting behind the GCPD’s corruption.”

“You’ve been talking to Kate again.” Well, she might have talked and Cass might have listened. “I have told her that I donate funds for the GCPD. What they do with the money is none of my business.”

If she doesn’t see the way his jaw hardens, she would say that he knows exactly what a lie it is, but she does, so she sighs and says nothing. The others get frustrated with Bruce a lot, because he tends to hold his words and lash out with his actions, but she thinks it’s simple enough if they watch what he does and ignore everything he says.

“Whose idea was it to get you caught shoplifting a handbag?” Bruce asks finally, as the car slows down at an intersection not far from the Gotham Academy.

“I volunteered.”

“ _You_ don’t have a record,” Bruce says. “Unlike the others, and I trust that you are wise enough to ensure yours will stay clean.” He pauses. “Or at least I did.”

Cass shrugs. “It’s for the sake of variety.”

“So what job was it this time?”

“Well,” Cass says. “You already know.”

The rest of her family can do a lot of things, but they can’t trick Bruce, and they had taken that into account before they came up with the heist plan on a napkin last night, hunched over their empty plates at the diner Steph works at in her spare time.

Refills of strawberry milkshake tend get all of them planning.

“The jewelry store next to the department store did seem lacking of security today,” Bruce says lightly. “I’m sure the ruckus you pulled was enough to distract the bored attendants to go out to the streets and see what was happening.”

Getting caught shoplifting a handbag and making a scene out of it were not hard at all.

“You saw the message to our channel.” Cass replies. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

“I never pretended that I didn’t.” Bruce says. His grip on the steering wheel tightens. “I just hoped that all of you would be mature enough to understand that your actions have consequences.”

Cass huffs. “The new owner, they – “

“Blackmailed the teen who received the store as an inheritance when his parents passed away, so that he let them run the store and now they have wiped his name from the lease. I know.”

Sometimes it’s terribly hard to not scowl when Bruce would speak in that know-it-all tone. But. Cass prides herself as the most mature between her siblings.

“Then why – “

“What you failed to take into calculation,” Bruce cuts in. “Is that the Wayne Corporation is looking to invest in some family jewellery stores in Gotham. An agreement was made last Monday and the papers are being drawn. You just cost us a whole month on the acquisition process, which means it’s another month before young Mr. Henry could get what’s rightfully his.”

Cass blinks. “Oh.”

To be honest it wasn’t one of their most thought out plans.

“Yes,” Bruce says. “ _Oh_.”

“There was no… Tim didn’t find any paperwork.”

“If I wanted everything to be done under the table, do you think there would be anything to find?”

Well. That’s.

The car pulls up at the Gotham Academy just when the students start to pile out of the building that Cass got expelled from, and Damian walks down the steps with slow steps while the rest of his peers are running towards freedom. His uniform is meticulous, too meticulous, and Cass itches to undo his tie and untuck his shirt from his pants.

With his attitude, he’d have a hard time finding friends otherwise.

Damian sneaks into the car. “How did it go, Cain?”

Cass shrugs.

Bruce makes eye contact with Damian through the rear view mirror. “We’re talking about this once we get home.”

Damian says, “Tt.”

He doesn’t sound particularly worried.

Well, Cass thinks, sinking lower in her seat. He probably should be.

-

They had a brother, once.

Someone Cass didn’t get a chance to know.

Jason Todd disappeared almost eight years ago, leaving the entire world befuddled. The only thing left was a tape, sent to the GCPD, a video of his bloody face as he blinks at the camera and struggles to breathe.

Six years ago, the Interpol declared unidentified human ashes found in Ethiopia as Jason Todd’s remains and chalked the case off as a kidnapping gone wrong.

Tim thinks whatever happened with Jason Todd is the reason why Bruce Wayne stopped stealing and Batman, the legendary thief, disappeared.

-

“You trained us for a reason,” Tim argues, not for the first time. His thin finger jabs at Bruce in the air. Bruce claps his hands together on the mahogany desk and stare at Cass and the rest of them, lined up in front of him as if they are six and have just painted the walls of his living room with crayons. Cass envies Damian, who always plays his position as the youngest as a reason to be excluded when Bruce chews them out. Not that it fools Bruce, who usually adds multiple chores to Damian’s list anyway. But at least he doesn’t need to be present for Bruce’s lectures. “Let us help.”

“There is no helping,” Bruce replies. A vein threatens to pop on his forehead. “Because there is nothing to help. I trained you to _survive_ , as per your agreement before.”

“What’s the use of surviving if we can’t help other people?” Steph chimes in with her arms crossed. The sleeves of her Gotham U hoodie are rolled up to her elbows and her blond hair has been tossed into a bun. “I thought Batman is supposed to help people.”

Duke mostly looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. Cass pats his back and he grimaces at her.

“The GCPD will help people,” Bruce says. “The system is helping people.”

“The whole system is rigged and you know it,” Tim says. “I don’t know how much money you can throw to feed into your delusion that they’re actually helping people.”

Sometimes, they know when they’ve gone too far. Sometimes, they can actually feel it in the air.

This is one of those times.

Tim’s shoulders tighten.

“This is my last warning to you as your guardian,” Bruce leans forward, eyes piercing. “Batman is dead. Let it be.”

Tim thinks whatever happened with Jason Todd is the reason why Bruce Wayne stopped stealing.

Cass thinks whatever happened with Jason Todd is the reason why Bruce Wayne stopped being happy.

-

“Well, that sucked,” Steph says, as she lays upside down on Cass’ bed. “He’s so uptight. Why is he so uptight?”

Her father is not uptight, she wants to say. He kisses her forehead when he thinks she’s sleeping and takes her out for ice cream. He attends her ballet recitals and makes sure to record every second.

He keeps his office locked and speaks in hushed tones into his phone.

“I heard things,” Duke says. His headphone slides down on his neck as he moves to straddle the back of Cass’ chair so he can face the rest of them. “About Batman. They said whenever you’re hungry in the streets, Batman would take care of you. He used to steal from corrupt politicians and give back to the poor, we all know that, but they also said that he used to be nice. At least, to those who didn’t do anything wrong.”

Damian snorts from the couch, the book he claims he’s supposed to read for a test tomorrow abandoned on his lap in favor of eavesdropping their discussion. “The ship has sailed on that one. None of you are _innocent_.”

Tim worries his bottom lip with his teeth. He’s sprawled on the carpet, fixing his gaze on the high ceiling of Cass’ bedroom. “We might have overstepped a few boundaries earlier.”

Steph rolls onto her stomach and props her head up with her right hand. “You mean _you_ overstepped a few boundaries earlier, Mr-sorry-to-inform-you-but-you’re-being-delusional.”

Tim groans, burying his face on the crook of his elbow. “I got carried away. I was just frustrated. This wouldn’t have happened if he informs us what he’s doing, instead of insisting that we must live a normal life and pretend we don’t know anything. Nothing about our lives are normal and there’s no use to pretend otherwise.”

Cass turns that statement over in her head.

It’s true. Nothing about how they ended up here, as Bruce Wayne’s children or wards, is ordinary. She was raised by David Cain, a famous mercenary who had a farfetched idea that he could turn her into the perfect killer by training her to read body language. A botched job resulted in his death and she got bounced from one place to another in the foster system. No one had any idea what to do with her, the mute daughter of a killer. It was Bruce who tracked her down and offered a permanent place to stay. It took her five long years to regain her speech, and even now, there are still days when words are hard to come by.

Bruce offered her a second chance, and Cass—she just wants to be useful in return.

“I need to apologize to him,” Tim complains.

“Just do what you did last time,” Duke replies. “He liked it when you modified his car.”

“Yeah,” Tim says. “After the initial thirty seconds when I thought his head was going to explode because I touched his Porsche.”

“Tim,” Steph interjects. “He wouldn’t even let Cass drive that car and he lets Cass get away with practically everything. What makes you think you’re special enough?”

“It probably didn’t help that you came to him with a burnt shirt and singed hair,” Duke adds. He stands and offers Tim a hand up. “Come on, I’ll help you think of something.”

Tim eyes Duke warily. “You’re awfully invested in this.”

“Anything as long as I don’t have to listen to you whine about it for the next two weeks,” Duke says.

Tim frowns but he accepts the hand and allows himself be pulled up. They wave goodbye before closing Cass’ door behind them. The sound of their bickering echoes as they walk further down the hall.

“Hey,” Steph pokes Cass’ side. “By the way, what are you wearing to the Art gala this weekend?”

Cass lets her lips quirk into a smile. “A dress.”

Steph jokingly rolls her eyes but she’s smiling too. “I need more details than that. Is it fancy?”

Cass leans forward. “The fanciest.”

Damian stands, stretches, and picks up his book. “Whatever Cassandra chooses to wear she still has a better taste than your gaudy purple clothes, Brown.”

“It’s eggplant purple, Brat,” Steph replies automatically. “Wait, was that a compliment? Did you just compliment your sister in the most backhanded way possible?”

Damian’s ears redden. “I did not. I was merely stating the facts.”

Cass says, “Steph looks pretty in eggplant purple, but thank you for the compliment.”

“Whatever,” Damian mutters, stomping away to leave the room. Steph’s laughter is muffled into the sleeve of her hoodie, her shoulders shaking. Cass feels warmth spreading in her chest, and thinks that there are things in life that she will fight for.

Bruce taught her that much.

-

Dick’s apartment is not particularly hard to get into.

Cass slips her hairpin back into her bun and trucks a stray strand of hair behind her right ear. She opens Dick’s front door, walks inside his small apartment, and lets the door slam shut behind her. Out of habit, she lets her eyes dart around the studio apartment and catalogues all the potential hiding spaces and exit points. She kicks off her shoes and crosses the short distance from the hallway to the bright blue couch.

Dick keeps insisting that he won’t ever move back into the Manor or accept help from Bruce, no matter how much their relationship has improved in the past few years. The GCPD hasn’t been paying him much, Cass knows. She runs her thumb on the quilt Dick uses to cover the patches on his couch.

It’s not long before she hears the front door open and her brother’s familiar voice uttering a loud curse. Dick enters the apartment, takes one look at her, and sighs. Cass waves lazily at him. He runs a hand through his already messy hair. “Cass,” he says. “No breaking and entering, please?”

Cass smiles at Dick while he unbuttons his GCPD uniform, revealing a white t-shirt. “Sorry,” she says, not particularly meaning it.

“What are you doing here?” Dick asks. He sprawls on the couch next to her, letting his thigh press against hers. “After your stunt yesterday I thought Bruce wouldn’t let you see the light of day anymore.”

“Sorry… about yesterday,” she says, and this time she means it. Dick swears he won’t return to life of dishonesty anymore, not after what happened to Jason, yet the rest of them keep dragging him back. It’s one of the reasons behind his falling out with Bruce—Dick thought that Bruce was crazy to even train the rest of them, while Bruce claimed that leaving them untrained would only mean putting them in danger. Cass thinks the both of them need to air out years of worry and heartaches before they can even have a rational conversation. “We hope you didn’t get into trouble.”

Dick’s blue eyes watch her and she stares back at him. She knows she’s forgiven when he finally reaches out to pat her knee, his palm a warm weight on her ripped jeans. “I’m saying this for your own good,” he says, his voice low. “You’re not invincible, Cass. One of these days Bruce’s past will catch up with him and I don’t want any of you to be in the blast zone.”

“All the more reason that I should stay,” she says. Who else is going to protect Bruce but them?

Dick turns to gaze out of the window at the darkening sky. “But that’s not your job,” he says slowly, as if he’s tasting each word as he says them. “Protecting him is not your obligation.”

She used to hear tales about the first Robin—and then Nightwing, Batman’s shadow and the helper of the scared, hungry, and lonely children. The young thief with the kind smile and heart of gold, they call him. Sometimes she fails to reconcile that knowledge with the man sitting next to her. Her brother with the tired eyes, baggy t-shirts, stained kitchen tiles, and explosive fights with their father.

But then Dick will smile, carry Damian on a piggyback, tell jokes that send Steph into laughing hysterics, make anonymous donations despite of his struggles to pay the bill, or exchange worried glances with Bruce that they think no one sees, and Cass will feel an overwhelming urge to hug Dick and never let go.

“No,” she agrees. “It’s ours. We protect each other.”

Dick chokes out a laugh and says nothing else.

Cass reaches into her purple leather jacket and takes out an envelope. “Here,” she says to her brother. “Alfred wants you to come to the annual Wayne Art Gala. He made Bruce… promise not to bring up anything about your apartment.”

He takes the invitation but makes no move to open it. “Tell Alfred that I don’t promise anything.”

“Alfred said that he only wants you to try,” Cass tells him. She maneuvers herself so that she’s stretched out on the couch, her feet on Dick’s lap. “Can we watch Bob’s Burgers again?”

“I keep telling you to set up your own recordings,” Dick groans, but he grabs the remote and flares up the last episode that they have watched together. He clicks a few buttons and switches the series to the next episode. The opening theme song washes over the both of them. He’s quiet before he says, “It’s not that I don’t get the need to protect him. He’s my father too, no matter what happens. Just—promise me that you’ll be careful, yeah?”

She nods and leans forward to kiss his cheek. “I will try.”

Dick ruffles her hair and she lets him. “I suppose that’s the best that I can ask for,” he replies. “Do you want to order pizza?”

She smiles. “As long as I get to choose the toppings.”

“Brat,” Dick says fondly.

-

The annual Wayne Art Gala is the only event that the whole family needs to attend every year. Even Dick has only missed a year or two. That’s the agreement that they all came up with—or Alfred insisted on, after weeks of debates and arguments between the rest of them. The Wayne Art Gala marks an occasion that the Wayne family has honored for generations, Alfred always says. This generation will do no different.

Cass inspects herself in the mirror.

She wears a knee length sleeveless black dress and black boots—Alfred has stopped commenting on her shoes long ago—that she happened to buy during a thrift shop haul with Tim. Cass throws on a bright yellow leather jacket on top of her dress, a beret on top of her short hair, and bounces out of her room only to bump into Bruce in the hallway. His hair is slicked back and his black suit neatly pressed. He looks like Bruce Wayne out of the magazines, stark and imposing, and not the Bruce Wayne who watches Star Wars reruns with her siblings. He adjusts the silver watch on his wrist and pauses.

Bruce looks at her. “Cassandra,” he says.

“You’re still mad at me,” she observes. It’s been a couple of days and usually Bruce’s ire cools down after an afternoon. “You only call me Cassandra when you’re mad.”

“Do you blame me?” he asks, but he reaches a hand out for her and she takes it. She never understands how people believe that golfing causes the callus on his palms. They walk to the stairs together. It’s ten minutes before they’re supposed to depart, so Damian and Duke will already be downstairs, while Steph and Alfred will be helping Tim who has just started to look for a suit to wear. Dick will meet them at the Gotham Museum of Art, an hour late and not a minute earlier.

She links her arm through Bruce’s instead. “What we did bothers you more than usual,” she says, tilting her head up at him. “Why?”

It’s not like they’ve never pulled any stunts before. Tim hacks his way through government servers on a daily basis, Steph grifts her way into jobs that she wants, and Cass breaks into bank vaults and closed museums just to look around. Duke fixes and resells abandoned vehicles from the Gotham borders with a cheaper price to families who can’t afford one, while Damian kidnaps pets from abusive homes and sends them to Martha Kent’s sanctuary.  

Sometimes they also pull public stunts as distractions, and only their Wayne names get the media to report them as their _acting out_ phase.

But Bruce rarely comments, not beyond a scolding or two.

He also never stays angry. Not to them.

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “I’m always upset whenever my children don’t pay attention to their own safety and future.”

That does make her feel sort of guilty. “You’re never _this_ worried though,” Cass insists nonetheless. “And the job was not… as dangerous as some others that we’ve done.”

Bruce presses his lips into a thin line. “Call it bad intuition,” he says. They take the stairs down one at a time. “Something looms in the horizon and it’s heading this way.”

 _Gut feelings and logic are opposites of each other_ , Bruce said to them once. _But if you don’t listen to them both you’re just going to get killed_. Cass frowns and Bruce, glancing at her, softens. They arrive at the main floor and he leans down to press his lips against her cheek. “Not to worry,” he murmurs. He doesn’t fake a smile and she loves him for it. “I’m sure I’m just being an _old_ _paranoid asshole_. Go and have fun tonight.”

Cass nods. Somehow even his attempt at humor by quoting the nickname he once caught Steph called him doesn’t help. It helps even less when he lets her go.

-

“Get me out of here,” Tim complains.

“How will you be the future of Drake Industries when you can’t even stomach an evening of inane chats?” Damian snaps. Ever since Alfred refused to let him bring Titus, Damian has been in a pleasant mood. Cass flicks his ear lightly in warning and he glares at her, but doesn’t move away from her side.

Tim makes a face. “For the record, if another lady calls me adorable I’m going to feed you to Vicki Vale.”

“Any time is a good time to feed Damian to Vicki Vale,” Steph chimes in. She holds a plate full of prawns and offers Duke one. “Mostly I’m curious to see who will make it out alive.”

Duke says, taking a prawn and popping it into his mouth. “Dick isn’t here, so it hasn’t even been an hour.”

Damian perks up at that. “Grayson is coming?”

“He said yes,” Cass says. They’re huddled near the balcony door, obscured by a statue of Poseidon that Bruce’s friend Arthur Curry donated to the city. Alfred will frown at them for hiding later, but for now they need a reprieve from all the eyes and ears curious about Bruce Wayne’s private life. “Does anyone want to… see the exhibition with me?”

The Wayne Art Gala started when Bruce’s great grandmother bought a painting from a street artist. Of the Gotham City burning in flames. She hung the painting in the parlor of the Manor, and it became the talk of the city. Bruce said that she had loved the painting so much, that for her it served as a reminder of what the city could be but wasn’t. She then started collecting paintings and art pieces from local Gotham artists.

Overtime the collection built up and they held the first Wayne Art Gala. A night when the Wayne family’s private art collection is available to the public, mixed with a charity event for those who have a bleeding heart, an opportunity for the socialites of Gotham to flaunt their riches, and a time when politicians try to gain favors from the Gotham elites.

Bruce’s grandparents continued the tradition, collecting their own art pieces, and so did Bruce’s parents. Now it’s Bruce’s turn and the Burning Gotham painting stays as the centerpiece of the night each year.

It’s not that Bruce enjoys hosting the Gala, they all know he doesn’t. Bruce has always hated all the showing off that comes with being a public figure, but Bruce values information—and when else is the best time to gather information, if not when the targets are loose from alcohol and think they have something to prove?

“I’ll go with you,” Steph says. She puts her plate down on the floor and steps over it.

“Don’t tell Alfred where we’re hiding,” Tim says.

“Who are you kidding?” Duke says, raising an eyebrow. “He knows we’re here—frankly I’m just waiting until he drags us out on our asses.”

“One can hope,” Tim replies grimly.

Damian takes out his phone and starts scrolling on it.

Steph rolls her eyes and drags Cass through the crowd. Cass waves at a couple of girls she befriended during her Gotham Academy days and smiles when she spots Bruce trying to get away from the new mayor. They push their way into the just as crowded exhibition room and stop by the door. “What are you looking for?” Steph asks. “Do you want to look around with me or do you want to meet me back here in fifteen?”

Steph understands that Cass likes art. Cass likes art in the way that they speak to her, not with words but with genuine emotions. That’s why she breaks into museums and art galleries, just so she can decipher their messages in the quiet of her mind.

“I’ll meet you in fifteen?” Cass replies, apologetic.

“Okay,” Steph says, smiling. She squeezes Cass’ hand once before she steps away and joins the crowd on the left of the room.

Cass starts her tour from where she always does: the Burning Gotham. Bruce said that his great grandparents had tried to go back and find the painter, but they never could find them again. Now the words _Unknown_ sits underneath the painting of black and red lines, aligned with its golden frame. Cass joins the couple who are staring at the painting.

“A bit tasteless if you ask me,” the blond haired woman says. “Wayne can choose any art in the world but he always makes this painting as the centerpiece.”

Cass narrows her eyes.

The man with the white beard grunts. “He has an old soul,” he says. “I can see the sentimentality of keeping up with family tradition, but I can’t deny that the painting is simply a mess.”

It’s not a mess, Cass wants to say. How can they not understand the hope and despair that the artist poured into the painting? Their love of the city and their hatred of it?

Cass opens her mouth to say so—

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

A guy around her age stands next to her. His blue green eyes are trained at the painting but she knows he’s addressed her. The angle of his jaw is sharp and a streak of white colors his dark hair. He holds a stylish black walking cane with silver carvings. She hides her surprise at not realizing his presence at her side. He’s not exactly unnoticeable. Perhaps she was more caught up by the couple than she thought. “Yes,” she replies.

“There’s something about the weight of each brush stroke that the artist did,” he says again. His eyes are still fixed on the painting and there’s an emotion that Cass fails to read—

Cass never fails at reading emotions.

“They never found the painter,” Cass offers, out of politeness. “The painter disappeared and left nothing but air.”

“I know,” the guy says.

“Do you?” Cass counters, wanting to take a step away but choosing to stay still instead.

“Pardon me,” he says, turning to look at her. “I was being rude. I’ve traveled far just to see this painting.” He flashes her a grin that does nothing to calm her nerves. “Finished an art degree and all that.”

“You’re not from here?” Cass asks. She feels as if she’s seen him before.

“Ever since my car accident,” he gestures at his cane and shifts his weight onto one leg. “I have never been back in Gotham. My friend gave me his ticket for tonight—and I thought, why not? I can’t run forever.”

“You should see Diana Prince’s collection for her Gotham tour then,” Cass says. The couple next to her move away from the painting. “It opens in a couple of week… and I heard that it’s stunning.”

“I might stick around,” the guy says, and his grin widens into something sharp. “Tell me something, Miss Wayne. If you don’t mind?”

He knows her name. “Why would I?” she says. “I don’t know you.”

The guy laughs, but it’s not a delighted laughter. “That’s fair,” he says. He extends a gloved hand. “I’m Peter.”

She takes the hand and shakes it. “Cassandra.”

“Nice to meet you Cassandra,” he tells her. He doesn’t sound like he’s lying.

“What was your question?”

“Oh,” he says. “You know me—a common Gothamite. I was just wondering, how does it feel to be one of Bruce’s Wayne kids?”

It’s not the first time she’s been asked about it. “Are you a reporter?” She asks bluntly.

He grins that sharp grin again. “Nope,” he says, patting his chest. “I grew up in Crime Alley. Sometimes imagining ourselves as Bruce Wayne’s kids was our favorite past time, especially when we were cold and hungry. But –well, sorted myself out, didn’t I?”

“He’s a good father,” she says. It’s a rehearsed answer but it doesn’t mean that it’s untrue.

“Huh,” he says.

“Cass!” She hears Dick calls.

Cass glances over her shoulder to see Dick walking over, navigating himself between the people standing by. Dick pauses when a waitress passes in front of him, a tray of drinks on her hand.

When Cass looks back at Peter, he’s no longer there.

Cass tenses and Dick puts a hand on her shoulder. “Who was that?” he asks, squinting his eyes. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“I don’t know,” she answers.

Something is changing—and she doesn’t like it.

-

The next morning, Bruce Wayne wakes up to a phone call.

“I’m sorry Mr. Wayne,” the security guard stammers. “Mr. Fox gave me your number. I was—I swear I didn’t take my eyes off the security screen.”

“What happened?” Bruce demands.

“They left a note,” the guard says, seemingly at the end of his wits. “The Red Hood, uh, left you a note.”

“Who is the Red Hood?” Bruce asks sharply.

“The thief,” the guard replies. “The thief of the Burning Gotham painting.”

-

_Bruce Wayne,_

_I know all your secrets and I’m coming for you._

_Red Hood_

-

**Author's Note:**

> Was Jason's appearance loosely based on Kaz Brekker? Yes. Yes it was. Should I continue this? Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think!


End file.
